Worth and Choice
by OneDarkandStormyNight
Summary: There was only one time they ever truly disputed about anything...and after Dr. Watson was pronounced dead three days later, Holmes finds himself lost and somehow lonely...until a slip of paper signed 'JW' surfaces. 1950s version.
1. Beginning

**Beginning**

It was rare that they quarreled. Indeed, it was highly uncommon that they disagreed on anything at all. Of course, naturally, it was not unusual for any friend or client to stand in the hall just outside the sitting room door and hear the livid protests about this bullet hole here or that poisoned tea there, followed always by the curiously charismatic and highly entertained-sounding justifications of patriotism or experimentation. Such spontaneous disputes were the regularities of the day, often occurring repetitively on those days during which there was no case to pull them out of doors.

Even so, all one had to do was set eyes upon the two of them together, to see the effortless attachment and mutual admiration, and it became immediately obvious that, never mind how many times the doctor threatened to find new, non-bullet-riddled lodgings, it was quite impossible to imagine any force on earth capable of separating them.


	2. Tempers

**Tempers**

Neither man could even recall what had instigated it, but by the time either of them cared to remember, too many words had already been exchanged. Perhaps it was the stress of the case, which was quickly becoming their most difficult yet, or perhaps the boredom and restlessness that had been rising within them both after nearly a week of hardly setting foot outside the sitting room, endlessly analyzing data. It hardly mattered now. The cold reality of the fact was that, for the first time in the many years of their companionship, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson had deliberately wounded one another in an unforeseen outburst of tempers.


	3. Overcoat

**Overcoat**

It was probably ridiculous and most likely unjustified, the words that were exchanged—words that had always been reserved for the ruffians and villains that required a bit of fear struck in them. It was odd to discover that they were, in fact, equally matched. Watson, due to both his natural physical features and army background, could be more than a little intimidating when he so desired, and such a quality was paralleled only to Holmes' quick wit. The whole thing had resulted in the slamming of the foyer door as the final culmination, and then Holmes had found himself standing in the middle of the sitting room, surrounded by the clutter of the case and glaring heatedly at the closed door.

If he noticed the forgotten overcoat hanging on its peg, he ignored it.


	4. Worry

**Worry**

It was not until the following afternoon, after the lingering traces of resentment had dissipated altogether, that his rationality returned to its usual extent. He could have argued with himself that this case, with all its dead ends and difficulties, was influencing his composure, and his losing control and releasing the frustration on his one companion was inevitable; however, not even the great Sherlock Holmes could dismiss with logic the memory of the wounded expression that had darkened the handsome face of his dearest friend, and so he began to plan the most eloquent apology he could manage (given that, unlike his doctor, he was not a man of letters). He wondered with some discomfort if his feeble articulations of regret would be sufficient to repair the damage this time.

He removed all traces of the wretched case from view, and had three of the Baker Street Irregulars fetch him the best cold lobster available from the meat market. He then tossed three half-crowns to the grateful youths and told them, should they see Dr. Watson about the city, to tell him Holmes requested he come home immediately. Of course, it was highly unlikely that Watson would remain any longer that the day away from Baker Street, and so he simply would sit and await his return.

Three hours after sundown, Sherlock Holmes began to worry.


	5. Weakness

**Weakness**

While he had an admitted weakness for the dramatic, Holmes had never been one to presuppose things without validation. So it was that he carefully set aside the lobster at quarter-to-midnight and retired to his rooms, fully anticipating being awakened to the scent of China tea and the good-natured grumblings of his tolerant flat-mate.

When he awoke instead to a cold breakfast from Mrs. Hudson and complete silence throughout the rooms, he dressed quickly, discounted the plate of food, and rushed out of the flat.

He had never felt real desire for another's company so acutely before.


	6. Seek

**Seek**

When the rare occasion arose that it was necessary for them to remain in London, but find temporary rooms other than at Baker Street, it became a sort of custom that they turn to the Hotel de Grande for accommodations. Naturally, then, it was here that he would seek out his friend.

The manager had not seen Watson since The Imposter Mystery.

Four days later, Inspector Lestrade entered his office to find Sherlock Holmes looking more distraught than he had ever seen, and wielding a tweed cap dripping with the dirty water of the Thames.


	7. Silence

**Silence**

It was three more days until they found a stethoscope bearing the initials _JW_, fished from the river by a puzzled young boy who recognised it as "the Doc's." When a small book entitled "The Tigers of India" was found three hours later, by a fisherman in the East End, not even Holmes could find any mystery remaining.

He politely accepted the sincere condolences from Lestrade and Wilkins, and ignored the sympathetic platitudes of the policemen as he exited the Scotland Yard.

He did not pause before entering the sitting room, pointedly _not _pondering the empty silence that would greet him.


	8. Distractions

**Distractions**

He focused all his attention on reaching his desk in front of the window, deliberately studying some meaningless gun prints he'd left there with unnecessary scrutiny. This was sufficient to distract his mind for two hours, and he had nearly forgotten the past week altogether by the time he looked up to turn up the gaslights.

When his gaze fell upon a broad-shouldered overcoat (which could probably encase two of himself), hanging silently on the peg near the door, all the conscious distracting of his brain went to waste.


	9. Tears

**Tears**

Watson had always said that mankind was given tears as a means of releasing sorrow. He never instructed a client—whether it be one consulting him for medical counsel or for the service of their agency—to dry his or her eyes, or that it was unreasonable to shed tears. On the contrary, he had only always offered his own handkerchief, and gently put one strong arm around frightened young women and placed a firm hand on the shoulders of fraught men. Holmes had seen it on dozens of occasions—that expression which assured he had given his full and complete attention, the caring compassion in the expressive blue eyes which gave the poor listener peace of mind, the formidable courage in his gentle words which gave pure _hope_.

Holmes had always appreciated the fact that Watson was so very good at handling such things, as he knew and accepted that he was not. He had noted that the doctor was especially sympathetic and heartening toward those he knew well—always willing to lend an ear for a peevish Lestrade when his position was threatened, or calm a fuming Mrs. Hudson when another stain or mark decorated the flat.

Based upon that fact, Holmes wondered how his dear friend would have reacted to the way he suddenly buried his face into his palms and sobbed silently into his shirtsleeves.


End file.
